How come Conan never had to deal with stuff like this?
When Salnath of the Sword returns home for winter solstice, he finds himself faced with a resentful younger brother, a mother intent on marrying him to his cross-eyed cousin, and a big sister who still calls him "Sally".
But even in the remote mountain valley where he grew up, there is need for a well-swung sword, and Salnath's skills become all that stand between his family and certain death. Of course, it'd be a lot easier to fight without a horny cousin draping herself around you...
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Home for the Holidays
Action/Fantasy
Publisher: Under The Moon
Format: eBook
Length: Novella
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Excerpt
Salnath screamed in berserker fury, swung his sword in a vicious arc--and buried it in the side of a mountain oak. The concussion of wood and steel echoed across the tiny clearing, startling a raven into flight.
Gods and daggers, he really needed something to kill.
"Things never change, do they?"
Salnath yanked his sword free and spun, holding it ready. Myrra leaned against a nearby tree, grinning, a hatchet shoved through her belt and a pair of meaty pheasants dangling from her grip. She was almost as tall as either of her brothers, broad through the shoulders and firmly muscled. Handsome, too, he realized, with the strong bones of their father tempered, in her, into beauty.
"I thought I'd find you here. Skarth's down at the tents, hacking a dead elk to pieces. What did you two fight about this time?"
Gritting his teeth, he swung at the oak again, driving the blade five inches deep into hardwood. Myrra shook her head. "You're going to ruin your sword doing that, you know."
"Not Karkaran, I'm not." He pulled the enormous sword free and held it out to her. Myrra examined the black metal closely and whistled appreciatively at the rune-etched grip. "Where'd you get a blade like that?"
"From Morg."
Her eyes widened. Salnath felt a rush of pride (entirely justified, whatever Skarth might say) as she whispered, awed, "The boar-headed god of the Terapites?"
He opened his mouth, then shut it. Always bragging and making yourself out to be better than everyone. His brother's bitter words rang in his ears, and Salnath flushed. "It's a long story."
"Well, save it for tonight then, so Vayra can hear it too." Salnath's face darkened further. "Oh, so that's the problem."
"No, the problem is he hates me."
"He doesn't hate you, Sally." Now, why didn't it bother him when she called him that? Myrra plunked to her knees and started plucking a pheasant. "The problem is he thinks the world of you. Nothing he does is ever good enough, in his eyes."
Salnath sheathed his sword and sat by her. "That's stupid."
Myrra rolled her eyes. "You know it, I know it... What's really stupid is he could have had Vayra years ago if he’d half tried. But he gets all nervous around her and stutters, and so she turns up her nose at him. Everyone knows she's waiting for you. Especially Skarth."
Salnath snorted. "She's going to have a long wait."
"Once again, little brother, information that everyone present possesses. But just try convincing her of that."
"I did. Twice."
"Well, not even Skarth ever claimed she was bright. Here." She shoved one of the pheasants at him. "Make yourself useful." He plucked half-heartedly at the thick, downy feathers while she deftly beheaded the other.
"You're still using that?" He nodded at the hatchet.
"Why shouldn't I?"
"It just seems with something bigger you could hunt more than pheasants."
Myrra grinned at him. In one blindingly fast motion she stood, spun--and the hatchet buried itself squarely in a sapling ash forty paces off.
"I take it back. You could take down a deer with that."
"A deer? You must be joking. I could take down an elk." She strode lightly to the quivering tree and levered the hatchet loose. Shoving it back in her belt, she sat cross-legged on the frozen ground, pulled the headless bird onto her lap, and started plucking.
"Why don't you, then?" Salnath asked.
"Oh," Myrra shrugged, "I don't know. Skarth does well enough, and..."
"And you don't want to hurt his feelings." Salnath shook his head in disgust.
"And what is wrong with that?" Myrra stared at him. Salnath suddenly felt like a child again, pinned under his big sister's disapproving eye. "He needs to have something to feel good about, Sally."
"I wish you wouldn't call me that," he muttered, hearing the sulky tone in his voice but unable to control it. "How come no one ever worries about my feelings?"
"Maybe because no one's sure if you have any."
"Myrr!"
Myrra bit the inside of her lip and looked away. Far down the valley, smoke from the tents rose like thin gray pillars into the air. Birds twitted and rustled in the bare branches nearby. Under the small, soothing noises and the silence of the mountains Salnath felt his anger fading. When Myrra turned to him to apologize, he shook his head.
"Don't. I deserve it. I'm the one who left, after all."
She sat quiet, her deft fingers moving over the bird. Feathers floated like living snow around her. After a moment she asked, "Do you ever think about... I mean, is it really so wonderful out there?"
It was Salnath's turn to shrug. "It's not that, Myrra. I..." He gazed over the treetops, searching for words. "I don't belong here. I never did."
She nodded, her gaze resting on the naked fowl in her lap. Her voice was low as she said, "I know. I just miss you."
"You could come with me." The thought was a novel one, and immediately he felt stupid--why hadn't he ever asked her before? But Myrra laughed, shaking back her thick, snarled tresses.
"Me? Are you kidding?" She slapped one muscular thigh in incredulity. "What would I do in a place like Korossos, with its walls and temples and fancy houses?"
"Same thing I do," Salnath replied firmly, but he felt a sinking in his gut. What would she do? Fight in the grudge pits? Hire her services to anyone who needed a sword and had gold to pay for it?
Die in the Pass of Arke like the others?, whispered a voice deep in his mind. Salnath shook it away.
"Besides, somebody's got to stay here and take care of Skarth. And Ma." She smiled at him gently, trying to ease the sting of her words, but Salnath felt it anyway.
"What about Vayra?" He heard a petulant note creeping back into his voice and suppressed it ruthlessly.
Myrra snorted. "Vayra's like getting two fools for the price of one." She clapped a hand over her mouth and glanced furtively around. "Don't tell Skarth I said that."
"I won't."
She smiled, took the other pheasant from him and started yanking the sturdy flight quills with her teeth. "I don't mind, really--or I wouldn't, if she'd finally give up on you and settle down with Skarth. He's more than she deserves, but he worships the silly nit and... Well," she concluded, spitting out a mouthful of feathers, "I'd put up with a lot worse than Vayra if it made Skarth happy."
"So would I." Idly, Salnath blew a fistful of downy plumes high into the air and watched them drift.
"If only she'd give up this stupid infatuation..."
"Oh, thanks." He scowled at her, hiding a grin.
"Sally, you know what I mean! Sorry. Salnath." She batted distractedly at the plumes settling on her neck. "It just infuriates me that the silly cow can't see what's right before her eyes."
Salnath watched the tiny brown feathers dancing in the air, obscuring his sister's face. "Maybe the problem is, she can," he murmured.
